


What A Lovely Home. Do You Have A Shed?

by frankie_31



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, is this....crack?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_31/pseuds/frankie_31
Summary: Eliot finds his bicycle.





	What A Lovely Home. Do You Have A Shed?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt from emberfaye over on tumblr. The prompt was 'I joined Plenty of Fish to find out who stole my bike. A fun first date would be going to your house to see if you have my bike. (What a lovely home. Do you have a shed?)'.

“Tell me something you can’t live without?”

 

Eliot levels a stare at Margo and says with absolute certainty, “My bicycle.”

 

“Okay,” she says with an eye roll. “Your favorite song?”

 

“‘I Like To Ride My Bicycle’,” he says solemnly. 

 

“El,” she chastises, setting the phone down on her lap, and he stands in a sudden flurry of coattails. 

 

“Margo,” he says. “He stole my bicycle.”

 

“You didn’t even ride the damn thing. You just kept it out front so they yuppies across the street thought you exercised,” she says and sets the phone down with a thunk. 

 

“It was a lie-cycle,” Josh offers from his bean bag on the floor and takes a rip off his bong.

 

“You’re a fucking moron,” Margo tells him with a fond smile and she reaches down to stroke his arm. 

 

“Stop touching each other! This is a genuine travesty. I was minding my own business, watering my lawn—“

 

“You were smoking a joint at seven thirty in the morning—“

 

“—and some vagrant, floppy-haired, chocolate-eyed, bicycle- thieving….twink stole my property and you’re too busy making—making eyes at each other to help me track him down.”

 

“Making eyes,” Margo echoes meanly. “I’ve been  _ trying _ to make you a fucking profile on this struggle-fuck-app for like my entire life. Eliot. Only ugly people are on this app.”

 

“I had a Plenty of Fish account,” Josh says and Margo pats his head with a sad look on her face. 

 

“Stop talking, babes,” she says, not unkindly. Josh shrugs and sinks more snugly into his bean bag.

 

“Margo, you know I started with looking for the thief on Grindr. No luck. Tinder. No dice. OKCupid. No. Luck. I have scraped the barrel with Farmers Only,” Eliot rests his face in his hands. “So, now, I am trying Plenty of Fish.”

 

“Fine,” she says and stands, wiping her hands on her skirt. “But I’m out. The entire experience is giving me hives. I don’t deserve hives.”

 

“Some best friend you are,” he snaps and she flips him off. 

 

“Good luck on your bike hunt or whatever. I’m getting my Pho Thien Long on. I’ll bring you some coconut prawns,” she says, salutes him sarcastically and slams the door on her way out. 

 

Eliot stares after her for awhile before a loud bubbling sound fills the room. Josh looks at him cheerfully from above his place on the floor and sets his bong aside. 

 

“I’ll help you, man,” he says. “No problem.”

 

“Oh, please,” Eliot snides and snatches his phone up on the way to his bedroom.

 

***

 

Eventually, he pops an adderall and hammers out the rest of his profile. Then he takes a really long shower and cleans his linen closet out. Then he crashes and takes a lengthy, nightmare-filled nap. 

 

Around three a.m. he gets up again and eats cold coconut prawns. He gets the premium version of Plenty of Fish and starts to resolutely swipe through every man in his town between the ages of eighteen and forty. 

 

It takes a while. 

 

He’s nearly given up and the sun is crowning outside his bedroom window when he finally—finally—finds him.

 

“Margo,” he shouts, skidding into her bedroom. “I found him. CurlyQ!”

 

“Whazzafuck,” Margo slurs from her bed. Her hair is a wild mess around her shoulders and her sleeping mask is pulled half over her forehead. “El?”

 

“His name is Quentin! He’s eighteen miles away. I found him.”

 

“He biked eighteen miles? I bet his quads are off the chain,” Josh offers  _ unhelpfully _ and Eliot ignores him in favor of climbing over him onto the bed. 

 

“Margo, what do I say?”

 

“Eat my ass,” she grunts and shoves her pillow over her face. 

 

“I can’t say that,” El sighs and settles back against the headboard. “Not at first anyways.”

 

“Just say something normal. Like ‘hi’,” Josh advises and Eliot shoves a pillow in between them. 

 

He sends ‘hi’. 

 

It’s two hours later when he’s drinking coffee out of the corner of his mouth that isn’t occupied by a cigarette that he gets a response. 

 

_ Hey (: _

 

He scowls down at his phone. 

 

_ What’s up cutie _

 

“Fucker,” he mutters around his cigarette. 

 

_ Not much. Wondering why someone who looks like you is messaging someone like me lol  _

 

_ Haha ur cute. I like cute.  _

 

_ Thanks (: _

 

_ Wanna hook up? _

 

_ Oh that was fast. Not that you aren’t like mind blowingly handsome but I like to take stuff a little slower. How about a date? _

 

“A date! The nerve,” Eliot says indignantly. 

 

_ Sure! Wanna do breakfast? _

 

_ Ok (: blue moon cafe? _

 

_ Sure at 9? _

 

_ Yep! C ya there! _

 

***

 

He dresses to impress, obviously, in a blue peacoat and a ruffled white scarf. He borrows Josh’s ugly Kia Sorento because there’s no way the bike would fit in his Spyder and sets off. 

 

He’s already peeved because this dude stole his bike. He’s peeved because the guy is so stupidly cute. And to top it all off, Josh’s car has a bumper sticker that announces in cheerful, bubble letters that he is an ‘Earth Warrior’. 

 

He’s late to the cafe because of who he is a person and wafts through the doors around nine-twenty. 

 

Quentin is sitting at a table in the back, holding a mug between two square hands. 

 

He’s very handsome. 

 

He perks up when Eliot crosses over to him and stands to shake his hand. 

 

Eliot shakes it gingerly and smiles winningly.

 

“I thought you’d be a catfish,” Quentin says, retaking his seat.

 

Eliot laughs, flattered.

 

The rest of breakfast is...nice. Eliot tries again to go home with Quentin but he’s rebuked. 

 

They set a date for Saturday and Eliot suggests him making dinner at Quentin’s. 

 

Blushing, Quentin agrees.

 

***

 

He shows up early, scouts the place out. No bike visible. 

 

So, he knocks on the door. Quentin answers, flushed and smiling sweetly. 

 

Eliot is  _ not _ charmed. 

 

“Show me around, Coldwater,” he says normally like a normal person. 

 

Quentin gives him a funny look but dutifully plays tour guide around the apartment. When Eliot opens every closet door and peers into the shower in the bathroom, Quentin wears a bemused smile and leads on. 

 

The tour ends in the kitchen. 

 

“Nice digs,” Eliot says and slides his sunglasses up on top of his head. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a shed?”

 

“A-a shed? Eliot, what’s this about?”

 

“Fine,” Eliot says and leans against the counter. “I’ll level with you. A few weeks ago I had something stolen from me.”

 

“And you think I stole it? I didn’t steal anything,” Quentin’s face turns red and he crosses his arms. 

 

“I saw you,” Eliot says and puts his hands on his hips. “I saw you steal it. You liar.”

 

“I’m not a—a liar. I don’t steal. I think you need to leave,” Quentin says and he points to the door.

 

“I’m not leaving without my bicycle,” Eliot says, trying and failing to keep from waving his hands around. “You—you scoundrel.”

 

“Your b-bicycle? Oh, fuck,” Quentin says and all the air goes out of him. “I am a scoundrel. I totally stole your bicycle.”

 

“I know! Now, uh, give it back,” Eliot says and Quentin scrubs him hands over his face. 

 

“Okay, so—I went out drinking. And my phone died. So I couldn’t get an Uber. And I’m walking home. Okay? And I’m so tired and so drunk and I see this bright turquoise beach cruiser. And I was going to bring it back! I promise. But I fell asleep as soon as I got home and when I woke up I had no idea where I got it from. So, yes. I have a shed and your bike.”

 

“Well,” Eliot says. “Can I have it back?”

 

“Yes,” Quentin says, wilted. 

 

He and Eliot make their way through the backyard to a dilapidated shed where—lo-and-behold— his bike is leaned up against a shelf of plant sprouts. 

 

“My roommate is a gardener,” Quentin offers and Eliot hesitates before grasping the handles of his bicycle. 

 

“That’s nice,” he says, kind of meaning it. He hesitates some more. “I did bring dinner stuff.”

 

“You’re kidding,” Quentin says, raising his eyebrows. “What did you bring?”

 

“Well, Babe’s Pizza is right around the corner from me and I like their Garden Delight,” he says and Quentin nods. 

 

“I like veggies,” he says and Eliot nods back. 

 

“It’s in the car. I can get it when I put the bike in the trunk,” Eliot says and Quentin smiles in spite of himself and shows him to the side gate. 

 

They have pizza. It’s delightful and Eliot doesn’t mind terribly when Quentin still won’t hook up with him. 

 

They do kiss in the doorway, Eliot cradling Quentin’s face in his hands and Quentin’s hands resting carefully on Eliot’s ribs.

 

They make another date and Eliot drives home in Josh’s stupid Kia Sorento and props his bike back up against the walk way. 

 

Finally, he goes inside to regale Margo ( and by proximity, Josh) with the tale of his daring rescue and subsequent makeouts. 

 

He is sure she ( and by proximity, Josh) will be delighted. 


End file.
